


Questa Volta

by vipertooths



Series: NBCH: Hannibal/Will [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (for everyone else), (for will), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, Fluff, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Happy Ending, Murder Family, POV Hannibal Lecter, Post-Canon, Pre-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, and dogs, the teacup gathered itself up again god damn it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 22:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17191136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipertooths/pseuds/vipertooths
Summary: "You're real," Will says through shallow breaths. "This is real."A slight crease forms between Hannibal's eyebrows. This behavior seems much more apt to the Will who had still been suffering from encephalitis. "Yes. I am. You are—""Will Graham. I'm in Baltimore, Maryland. Today is the day you kill Abigail Hobbs."





	Questa Volta

**Author's Note:**

> 'questa volta' translates to 'this time'. i was listening to ludovico einaudi as i wrote and it seemed a fitting title. if you like piano, i would highly recommend you listen to his stuff. among my favorites are experience and nuvole bianche.
> 
> this is unbetad as usual, so i apologize if there's any mistakes. 0:-) enjoy~

Hannibal hears Will's car before the front door opens without a knock. He wonders if Will has come to kill him and grabs a knife from the counter, lowering his hand behind the island so it's not readily visible.

When Will stumbles into the kitchen, clothes ruffled and eyes wild, he takes only a few seconds to catalogue the scene before falling to his knees. His breathing is erratic, possibly due to a panic attack, and Hannibal sets the knife back on the countertop and moves around the island to Will.

"Will? Can you tell me what's wrong?" He places a hand on the man's shoulder and is mildly startled when fingers immediately cover it and squeeze.

"You're real," Will says through shallow breaths. "This is real."

A slight crease forms between Hannibal's eyebrows. This behavior seems much more apt to the Will who had still been suffering from encephalitis. "Yes. I am. You are—"

"Will Graham. I'm in Baltimore, Maryland. Today is the day you kill Abigail Hobbs." Will lets out a hysteric sort of laugh and grips his hand tighter.

Hannibal is frozen, cycling through and discarding courses of action almost too quickly for them to form. Will had gotten past his defenses, but not to this extent. It should have been impossible for anyone to know that Abigail was alive, let alone what Hannibal had planned for the night. Preoccupied as he is with his own thoughts, he belatedly realizes that Will is crying, though no longer hyperventilating.

"Don't, Hannibal." Will finally looks at him and the depth of emotion in those blue eyes is almost staggering. "The tea cup came back together. Don't shatter it again."

"You are not making any sense, Will," he tries, attempting not show how rattled he feels.

Will's lip quirks upward and he closes his eyes. "I know. But I need you to listen to me anyway."

"Perhaps not on the kitchen floor."

"Perhaps not," he answers, but it still takes him several seconds before he lets go of Hannibal's hand and pushes himself up to stand. He rubs his eyes beneath his glasses before motioning for Hannibal to take the lead.

As it is highly unlikely he needs to worry about Will physically attacking him from behind, he does so, bringing them to the chairs in front of the unlit hearth. He would normally be inclined to offer a drink, wine or perhaps some tea, but he believes courtesies can take a backseat for such an occasion.

"I know about Abigail. I know that you found out that I'm still loyal to the FBI. I'm not going to apologize. You're not going to make me apologize for what you did to Abigail." He blinks and rephrases. "What you are planning on doing to Abigail."

"And how did you come across this information?" Hannibal asks warily.

Will hesitates, but he looks more sure of himself when he looks up. "I lived this night already."

Hannibal’s first instinct is disbelief, but he pushes aside the baser feeling and observes the man in front of him. Will is sincere, which either means that he is telling the truth or that he believes he is. Now that he’s calmed down some, he seems remarkably sober, and when Hannibal puts a hand to his head, it isn’t overheated.

It could be that Will had a particularly vivid dream or hallucination and his empathy disorder allowed him to accurately predict what was going to happen. It was a possible conclusion, but Hannibal felt that would be insulting to his company. Will has not shown issue separating reality from fiction since his encephalitis was cured.

"You have traveled back in time," Hannibal says, compartmentalizing his errant thoughts and feelings and questions to focus on the conversation.

"Yeah," Will answers on a sigh of relief.

"You have traveled back in time from a future where I have killed Abigail and yet you did not shoot me on sight. Why?"

"For the same reason I called to warn you the first time, I guess."

He cannot help the tilt of his head as he parses over the words. "You have traveled back in time from a future where you warned me of my imminent ambush and I still killed Abigail." It makes even less sense with the added detail.

"Well, the last time I killed you, I ended up here." Will gives him a wry smile and he tries not to prickle at the sentence. Will was his undoing after all, it seems. "Although, I can't say that I stayed around long enough to know if you died or not."

The indignity barbs at him. He expected that if Will were to kill him, it would be a more intimate affair.

"Don't look so affronted. I don't know because I woke up in Wolf Trap before I could find out." Before he can satiate his curiosity by asking any more questions, Will stands and takes a breath. "We should talk about this somewhere else. We need to leave. Where's Abigail?"

Hannibal stands as well and straightens his shirt. He considers for a few moments before turning and heading for the stairs. Will's breathing picks up again slightly and Hannibal wonders what it must be like, to be faced with the prospect of having someone dead standing alive and well in front of you. His heart pangs with envy as he reaches the end of the hall and opens the door.

Abigail looks over from her seat on the bed and immediately stands. Will wastes no time in rushing to her, pulling her into a tight hug that makes her eyes widen in surprise. It lasts only seconds before Abigail's face crumples and she buries her face against his shoulder.

When they finally pull apart, he cups her face between his hands and wipes her tears and she smiles hopefully at him before her eyes dart to Hannibal in question.

"We must leave now, Abigail," he says, and she nods, trying to regain control over her expression.

Will passes his thumb over her cheek once more before letting go. "Do you have anything here? We can't leave any recent trace of you."

She shakes her head. "Nothing. I haven't been staying here."

Will turns and ushers her out with a hand on her back, putting himself between her and Hannibal. "Go get in Hannibal's car. We'll be out soon."

She sends another questioning glance Hannibal's way and he gives her a single nod. As soon as she closes the front door behind her, Will pulls out his phone and throws it on the floor before crushing it under his heel. He picks it back up and wraps it in his scarf, along with any pieces that broke off, and stuffs it into his pocket.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow but makes no comment.

"Is there anything you'd like to retrieve before we go?"

"There is not."

Will nods and heads back to the car, getting in the passenger seat without preamble. There is nothing left for Hannibal to do but join him. As he pulls out of the driveway, he shuffles through his many questions, but Will looks at him and shakes his head.

"Later."

Understanding that Will likely wishes to keep the details from Abigail, he allows the two to converse between themselves for the drive.

**+**

When they arrive at their destination, Abigail is the first one out of the car, clearly having read the growing tension on Will's end the nearer they came.

"You recognize the house," Hannibal infers.

"This is where we were before I was sent to Wolf Trap."

"This is where you killed me," Hannibal says, unbuckling his seat belt and shifting toward the passenger seat. Woodenly, he adds, "Possibly."

"Possibly," Will agrees and attempts to relax himself. He does a much better job than expected.

"How did you do it?"

"I tipped us over the cliff."

It is an interesting choice of word. Tipped. It does not carry aggressive connotations, not like pushed or tackled or dragged. Will, as observant as always—perhaps even more so, now—understands what he is pondering.

"There wasn't a struggle. Not between us, anyway. You let me."

Hannibal's mind stumbles, truly, for the first time since Will had barged into his home. He had thought Will would be his undoing, but not like that. He takes careful stock of his feelings and poses himself a question. Would he, as he is now, allow Will to lead them to their possible doom?

With the betrayal still burning fresh in his gut, it is hard to concede even the possibility.

"Who was the struggle between, if not us?"

"There was another killer. He called himself The Dragon. We killed him."

There is a note of reverence in Will’s voice, something that Hannibal very much plans to explore at another time. "And you killed us."

"A last ditch effort to save myself, I guess." He snorts. "We see how well _that_ worked."

Something about the statement rings false. "That is a half truth, Will. It is very rude to ask someone to trust you if you do not plan on being honest."

Will sighs and looks out towards the sea. "A last ditch effort to save everyone else, then."

"What exactly did you believe you were saving them from?"

"Us." He closes his eyes briefly before finally meeting Hannibal's gaze. "But it's different now. I can't leave her."

Hannibal changes the focus of their conversation. "How did we find ourselves here, fighting a dragon?"

"That's a long story."

"I believe I have the time to listen to it."

"Have you bothered to consider that maybe I don’t want to tell it?" Will shakes his head and looks away. "Can I have some time to process? It’s not even been twelve hours for me since it happened. I just lost years of my life. I—"

Hannibal’s fingers twitch, but he doesn’t reach out. "A few glasses of wine may be in order."

Will laughs shortly. "A few _barrels_ of wine might be more appropriate."

Amusement curls the corners of his lips. "I’m afraid I do not have a wine cellar here."

"I guess beggars can’t be choosers."

**+**

Abigail is asleep and Will has has enough wine to be at least pleasantly buzzed before Hannibal decides to pose another question.

"You do not wish to speak about events that have recently happened to you. I will let you process them in your own time."

Will looks mildly suspicious. "Gee, thanks. Was there a 'but' coming up?"

He had spent the time since they arrived trying to sort through his most pressing questions. He wants to know, almost desperately, how the time travel occurred to begin with, but is sure Will has no answer for him. There are, however, other curiosities which prod at him. "These past months, for me, did not happen to you recently. Would you be amenable to discussing them?"

"That would be...acceptable."

"You undermined all of yours and Jack's work by warning the Hannibal of your timeline. Did you regret the part you played in my attempted capture?"

"I didn't want you to die," Will says, avoiding a forthright answer to the question. "Jack was on his way. I doubted you'd have let him capture you willingly. Judging by the way he nearly bled to death before the ambulance got there, I believe my hunch was right."

He inclines his head, conceding the point. "You wanted my apprehension without bloodshed."

"I did. Most of me, anyway."

"What did the other part of you want?"

A flicker of pain passes over Will's features and he sets his glass down to lean back in his seat. "I think you know very well what the other part of me wanted."

"Do I? I believed so, until I smelled Freddie Lounds on your person."

"I should have killed her," Will states, eyes distant for a moment. He looks at Hannibal then, unflinching, hands still against the arms of the chair. There is something different about the way he holds himself now. Hannibal realizes that the facade Will had clung to in his scheme with Jack was a poor facsimile of the real thing. There is a soft commandment of confidence in this Will, a power in the way he allows himself to be at peace with his darker urges. Hannibal is sad to have missed the transformation.

"You did not," Hannibal says. He wants to punish Will, but it hardly seems fair to, given the circumstances. This Will has already paid.

"I was scared."

Such willingness to be vulnerable is new and Hannibal wonders at all that had come to pass to cultivate the man who sits across from him. He would find out, in due time. "What frightened you, Will?"

"Everything." He scoffs and looks away fleetingly before he returns his gaze. " _I_ scared me. For wanting things I shouldn't want."

"Should and should nots are sentiments best left to the sheep."

Will's face clouds suddenly with anger. "Is Abigail a sheep, Dr. Lecter? You sacrificed her easily enough."

Despite himself, Hannibal feels a twinge of guilt. "In all of the world, you two are the ones who I allowed to see me, and it brought pain and betrayal."

"We were a bleeding wound you needed to cauterize. I understand your motivations. I had long enough to think about them." Will turns from him then, looking at nothing in particular. "But you let me live. A final act of punishment, to live without the both of you, to show me what I'd lost. At least, that's what I'm sure you told yourself."

His eyebrows raise subtly. "You believe otherwise?"

"You asked me, after your knife became intimate with my insides, if I believed I could change you, the way you changed me." Unexpectedly, Will graces him with a sharp smile, borderline vicious. It brings something alight in his chest. "I told you that I already did."

Letting Will into his life was like guiding a knife to his own gut. He feels the blade twist with the words. Whatever had happened in this alternate timeline, Will speaks with conviction. There is no doubt that he believes his words, so Hannibal can only take them at face value. Will has changed him, perhaps in ways he has not yet discovered.

Will's smile drops and Hannibal can see the contained anger roiling under the surface before the man closes his eyes and takes a breath. "I'm tired. I don't feel like I slept at all."

"Perhaps we should retire, then," Hannibal offers courteously, though sleep is far from his mind.

Will nods but doesn't move. Hannibal reads his reluctance.

"You're afraid of what you might find lost when you wake up again, if Abigail will be here, or if you will."

After a long moment, he sighs and stands. "Maybe that's the sacrifice you make when the teacup gathers itself back together. You spend the rest of your life waiting for it to fall apart again." He doesn't look at Hannibal again as he begins to walk away, though he pauses before he shuts the door of the guest bedroom to say goodnight.

"I hope sleep finds you well," Hannibal answers and sets to work clearing the table and washing their glasses. After they are dried, he retrieves a clean pair of lounge clothes for Will and hesitates at the door. The idea of leaving the clothes on the floor is distasteful, but he will not take it upon himself to enter the room. He opts for setting them on the stand outside the door and writing a note for Will.

Without much else to do, he retreats to his own room and dresses down into something more comfortable. He has no plans on sleeping, not with as much as he has to think on and his growing inability to predict what Will might do next; he chooses to meditate instead.

As the night wears on, the urge to check upon Will strengthens, but he does not act on it. He would hear if Will attempted to leave, and if some power outside of his own decides to pull the man back to his own time, there is nothing he can do to stop it.

**+**

It isn't until eight o'clock that he rises from his bed. Neither Will nor Abigail have woken, so he bides times with dusting before he moves on to preparing breakfast. Deciding that comfort food may be in order, he settles on banana nut pancakes accompanied by yogurt parfaits.

The smell draws Abigail out as he's cooking and she offers him a wide grin, pleased with the menu. "It's too bad we don't have mini chocolate chips."

"I shall endeavor to buy some chocolate in the future. Do you have a preference?"

She rests her elbows on the counter, content to watch him as she waits for her food. "Semi-sweet, but I'm not picky."

The sound of a door opening alerts Hannibal to Will having waken and, after a short pause, it closes again. He plates their pancakes as Will changes and sets them on the table with the proper accouterments and parfaits. As they take their seats and Abigail thanks him for the meal, Will walks in silently behind her. Seeing Will in his clothing eases a possessive impulse inside him.

"Good morning," Will greets, choosing his customary seat to Hannibal's right. He shares a soft smile with Abigail before he takes in the food and turns an amused look at Hannibal. "I didn't take you for a pancakes man."

"A time and a place for all things," Hannibal answers, contented when Will picks up a utensil and begins eating. "Did you sleep well?"

"It was surprisingly dreamless," he answers between bites. "And you?"

There's a sarcastic lilt to his words, likely aware that Hannibal had chosen to remain awake. "Dreamless would be an accurate description of my night as well."

Breakfast passes pleasantly enough and Abigail offers to clear away and clean the dishes, giving him and Will a moment alone. She's an astute girl, so he has little doubt it is not on purpose.

"Neither of you disappeared in the night," he notes conversationally. "Do you feel less frightened?"

"Only marginally," Will answers on a sigh. "Have you decided what to do with me yet?"

He raises his eyebrows, head tilting slightly. "How do you mean?"

Will rolls his eyes. "You were planning to take us to Florence. Is that still the plan?"

Having had ample time to consider this over the course of the night, Hannibal answers without hesitation. "I do believe Jack will have put both of our faces on a flight ban by now. We will have to find another means of transportation."

"Which I'm assuming you've got figured out already."

Hannibal's lips quirk. "Yes, but it will take some time."

"How long can we stay here before they track us down?"

"As long as we are not recognized, this location holds no obvious ties to myself." He leans forward slightly. "Do you struggle with an urge to kill me, Will?"

Will blinks in surprise, though whether it is at the question or the abrupt change in subject is unclear. "Why do you ask?"

"You told me last night that you didn't want me to die, yet professed to attempting to kill me before you were sent here. You could also have finished the job when you returned here, yet you seem eager to depart with me instead. It paints a very troubled picture."

Will considers his response for a long time, long enough that Abigail has since retreated back up the stairs before he replies. "It seemed the better end. I was tired of our cat and mouse game. You have a frankly unsettling capacity for patience."

"I shall take that as a compliment."

"You would." Will favors him with a smile, but it slips away quickly. "You wore away at my defenses like the sea to the bluff. I didn't want to face the moment I finally crumbled."

"You killed me before I could make that happen." Hannibal hums. "That doesn't explain why you chose not to kill me upon your arrival in the past."

"I don't think I could do it a second time. I don't—" He stops mid sentence, the first sign of hesitancy finally showing. When he begins talking again, his words come slower, measured. "I don't _want_ to do it a second time. Abigail is _alive_. A place was made for her in our world."

 _Our world_. The concept is alluring, but then so was the sun to Icarus. His only reassurance for his life is Abigail's own. An ache takes root inside him.

"I forgave you," Will says quietly. "We forgave each other. And we still tried to kill each other. I thought it was always going to be like that, that it would have to be one of us or the other, but it doesn't have to be. What use is the teacup coming back together if you can't drink from it?"

"Perhaps God was curious what we would do with it for a second time."

"Not drop it on the floor again, hopefully," he counters dryly.

Amusement flickers between them briefly. "I will aspire to be more careful."

**+**

Hannibal makes the appropriate calls after their morning conversation as he takes stock of what food is left in the kitchen and pantry. There are a few unsavory microwaveable meals in the freezer, courtesy of Abigail, and he imagines the number of items he would prefer not to have will only grow with Will's influence. While the two appreciate home cooked meals, they do not possess his penchant for cooking.

He begins to assemble meals in his head that can be frozen and conveniently reheated for the sake of the two before he has hung up the phone and then moves on to dinner plans. He had only been here days prior, so there is plenty of meat to choose from, all of it from the closest butcher.

"Hannibal?"

He closes the freezer and turns to see Abigail standing in the doorway, not quite looking at him. "Yes, Abigail? Is something wrong?"

"I was just wondering... You said we're going to start a new life when we leave here. Will it be—" She meets his gaze, eyes wide and woeful and so sweetly reminiscent  of Will's. "Will it be an actual life?"

He crosses the room and places a hand on her face. She doesn't flinch, this silly, trusting girl he's taken under his wing. _It must be contagious_ , he thinks sardonically, _trust_. He was going to kill her, going to finish the job her father started, only the day before. He _did_ kill her, in another timeline, and he laments it. A rash decision birthed from hurt, it seems. Will had forgiven him, come back to him, after all. How much pain could have been spared for them all if he had chosen another path?

"Hannibal?"

He smiles down at her as if he's imparting a secret. "I would not see you caged, Abigail."

The smile she returns is radiant.

**+**

She falls asleep on the couch that night. Will pulls her feet up so she can lay down properly and covers her with a blanket, watching her sadly for a few breaths before sitting down and turning his eyes to the ceiling.

Hannibal is content to wait in the silence until Will decides to share whatever is weighing on him, occupying himself with his own thoughts. They should be in Florence within a week's time if everything went to plan. He was pleasantly surprised when Will showed no hesitation in eating his dinner, despite the meat present. It's possible there will still be reluctance in the future, when there is no doubt about what kind of meat they are eating, but it is a bridge that can only be crossed when they arrive at it.

For the first time since he'd sussed out Will's betrayal, he allows himself to indulge in visions of the future, imagining the life they will carve out for themselves in Italy. There is much he wishes to share, a thought which ought to be worrying unto itself. A part of his mind will always whisper danger, but he made the conscious decision to ignore it when he decided that he wanted Will and Abigail in his life.

"I miss my dogs," Will says, returning him to his present reality.

"I assume you have someone looking after them."

"Yeah. Alana and I had an agreement based on the worst case scenario that I end up in the position not to be taking care of them again. But I still miss them."

Hannibal had never been particularly inclined to keeping pets, but he supposes he could permit two or three dogs in his home for Will. The true question would be whether Will would be able to stop at two or three.

Will chuckles. "You're thinking very loudly, Hannibal."

"Am I?"

"I imagine that you find a pack of stray mutts running around your fancy Italian home to be distasteful."

Amusement curls Hannibal's lips at the wording. "I admit that muddy paws on the furniture is not the most pleasing of ideas, but there are worse Achilles' heels than dogs, and you train them well."

"You're right. One could have an Achilles' heel for cannibals instead." Will's tone is wry, but remains good-humored and washes Hannibal with a wave of affection.

"Just so," Hannibal says jovially and they lapse back into a comfortable silence.

It is close to twenty minutes before Will speaks again, voice soft and considerably more somber. "Do you think time has been unwritten? Or have I been pulled into another timeline while my own continues on?"

"It is most likely we will never know," Hannibal answers. "Which would you prefer?"

"The former. It would be a cruelty to both of us if the me from this time woke up in my place, assuming there was still a living body to inhabit." Will runs a hand across his face roughly. "If I let myself think about how surreal this all is, I might lose my mind again."

"Time, I believe, may ease the burden."

He looks out toward the sea and sets his hand back down on the chair, now clenched. "We left our lives in the hands of fate and fate saw it fit to bring me here. Only me. I can't understand it."

Pleasure and displeasure swirl together inside Hannibal at the sound of longing in Will's voice, as it both is and isn't directed at him. He wonders if Will prefers the version of him that has been left behind. "Do you wish he were here instead of me?"

"I don't know," Will answers honestly. "Maybe it's better this way. Less history between us now."

"Will you miss him?"

"Yes, but it's a feeling I am...highly accustomed to." The sentence is punctuated with a yawn.

"A discussion for another day. It seems rest is in order."

Will stretches and several joints pop. "I feel like I have jet lag."

"Perhaps Florence time will better agree with you," Hannibal offers as they rise.

"Let's hope," Will says and glances down at himself. "I wish I'd brought clothes."

"Abigail can venture into a store for you tomorrow, I'm sure."

He glances at her, still at peace on the couch, and nods. "Goodnight, Hannibal."

"Goodnight, Will."

**+**

Without much else to do, the three of them take to their own habits and hobbies, making it a point to join each other when such activities overlap. Abigail sketches with him, though their styles are wildly dissimilar, and ropes Will into watching videos on Hannibal’s "sadly underutilized" tablet. Will and he sit quietly and listen to instrumental, alternating between classical and modern as a compromise for their different preferences. All three come together to read, sharing interesting facts or plots over their meals.

It is domestic and unexciting and Hannibal is not bothered to share his space so intimately with the two. Problems are bound to arise over time, but he is confident that they will get through them without screaming, bloody murder.

"You just made another horrible joke in your head again, didn’t you?"

Hannibal looks up to find Will’s, and now Abigail’s, eyes trained on him. Where Will looks extremely unimpressed, Abigail seems curious. "What makes you say that?"

"Because you were just wearing your ‘I am so clever and funny’ face."

He clears his face, but knows he won’t be able to hide the amusement from his eyes. "I’m afraid I do not have such a face. Have you considered that it was just my normal resting expression?"

Will rolls his eyes and exchanges a glance with Abigail, who is trying to control a smile. "While I’m sure that you always consider yourself clever and funny, you don’t usually show it unless you’ve made a particularly bad pun or awfully concealed joke."

Hannibal raises his chin and affects superiority. "I have never told a joke without a worthy punchline, Will."

Abigail laughs as Will groans, though there is a clear smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Hannibal stores the memory in his mind palace and knows he will revisit it in the future.

**+**

It is a week after that Hannibal wakes to the sound of erratic breathing. He sits up as footsteps approach his room and Will opens the door on the verge of a panic attack.

Will blinks at him several times, clearly still tired and eyes adjusting, before he lets out a gust of breath and slumps against the door frame. "I’m sorry for waking you," he croaks, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"What did you dream of?" Hannibal asks, not particularly upset with the interrupted sleep.

He tries to push himself away from the frame and sways on his feet. "The night we died."

"Come here, Will."

He hesitates only for a moment before crossing the room to the bed. Hannibal moves over, making room on one side, and is gratified when Will understands the gesture and sits next to him. He holds his arm out, palm up, light spilling over it from the opened door.

After a few seconds of silence, Will reaches out, fingers brushing the skin of his forearm, across the scar, down to his wrist.

"We are here, alive, safe. Abigail is sleeping in the next room over."

Will nods, but doesn’t withdraw his hand, so Hannibal lets his arm rest between them. A minute passes before Will does something unexpected, leaning into Hannibal and resting a head on his shoulder. From his peripheral, he can see Will’s eyes are closed, but his breathing hasn’t evened out enough to indicate sleep. Hannibal presses his cheek to Will’s curls and says nothing else.

Eventually, Will takes the initiative to pull them both down, rolling onto his side and keeping a hold of Hannibal’s arm. A question Hannibal posed to himself less than a fortnight ago repeats itself in his mind and he knows with utter conviction that he would let Will lead them to their doom, so long as they were together. It is a peaceful realization and he lets it lull him back to sleep.

**+**

When Hannibal wakes next, Will is still asleep next to him, and he presses a hand to the man’s cheek gently before rising and beginning his day.

Abigail joins him in the kitchen as he is brewing coffee and pours herself a bowl of cereal, digging into it with enthusiasm. He makes an egg scramble for himself and Will as the coffee percolates and Abigail offers to go wake him when he is close to finishing.

"He is in the master bedroom," Hannibal comments as he retrieves two cups from the cabinet.

Abigail corrects her path without comment, seeming to be in high spirits as she heads up the stairs.

Will comes down minutes later, behaving just as he would any previous morning. He thanks Hannibal for the meal and they discuss Florence as they eat, what to expect and if Will should begin practicing his Italian.

Once his plate is cleared and cup empty, Will leans back and looks at Hannibal steadily. "There is a rather unsavory pest that I would see exterminated sooner rather than later, if possible."

Hannibal’s heart soars at the turn of the conversation. "Oh? Do you wish to eliminate it yourself?"

"It’s not a pressing concern of mine whether I do or not, though I certainly wouldn’t be opposed. It’s probably better to give his sister the means and incentive instead."

"Mason Verger?" Hannibal guesses, musing over what else he could have done to incur Will’s wrath. "There is a story here. Will you tell me sometime?"

Will gives him a grim look. "It’s not a very fun story. But sure."

"How can I help you with your pest problem, dear Will?"

**+**

Will keeps his eyes from the window of the jet as he looks around for the third time, a telling paranoid tic that Hannibal will have to coach him out of.

"There is no one hiding in the luggage area," Hannibal remarks wryly.

Will frowns, but snaps his head forward. "I just keep feeling like this is too _easy_ . We’re on our way to _Florence_ , Hannibal."

Hannibal suppresses a sigh. "I am aware."

"I don’t really like planes."

"I have become aware of that as well. A boat would have been preferable to you, I imagine, but comes with its own set of difficulties; I wanted this trip to be smooth sailing."

Will’s eyes narrow at the joke, but his posture becomes slightly less stiff. He spares a brief look at Abigail, who is listening to music through her earbuds, expression distant. "Is it safe to talk openly here?"

"The pilot will not hear us," Hannibal assures, interested in whatever thought could have provoked the question. "Is there something on your mind?"

"The Chesapeake Ripper killed in sounders of three, years apart. How many people between them?"

Hannibal lets his stare go distant as he considers how to answer. "Not as many as you likely think."

"Why was the last time different then? Why so many victims?"

"Are you psychoanalyzing me, Will?"

"No," Will answers flatly, finally allowing himself to rest back against his seat. "I’m simply curious. I’m going to be living with you and I don’t know if I could withstand the frequency of kills."

"Peculiar that you waited to have this conversation until now, when you are not able to turn around or leave."

Will glances at him from the corner of his eye. "And you accused _me_ of psychoanalyzing?"

"Not accusation. Merely a question." Hannibal pauses as Will hums, unconvinced. "Do you have stipulations prepared already?"

"Maybe," Will answers honestly. "Vague ideas, anyway. This has to be a compromise, Hannibal."

They look at each other then, holding eye contact in a manner which would have been impossible only a few short years prior. Hannibal had hoped that Will would have been more amenable by this point, but is not surprised to find him otherwise. At the core of him is an unshakable moral compass. There are many lines he would cross that most would not, but still those he would refuse to. Hannibal had come to terms with it shortly after his discovery of Ms. Lounds’ continuing life.

"Compromise we shall," he finally acquiesces. And compromise they do.

**+**

Hannibal closes the door behind them as they bring the last of their luggage inside and turns to an excited, wide-eyed Abigail. "You may choose whichever room you like," he says, and watches fondly as she sets off to explore, turning on lights as she goes.

Will stands unmoving for a long moment before taking in a large breath and letting it rush out. He turns to Hannibal with subdued wonder. "We’re really here."

"We’re really here," Hannibal confirms with an indulgent smile.

Will launches himself forward and Hannibal stumbles back into the doorway, catching him by the hips as their lips meet. It is eager and hungry and mirthful and Hannibal commits every detail about it to memory. He tugs Will closer by his belt loops until they are pressed flush, returning the kiss as fervently. The ache of yearning in his chest grows more pronounced, as if it didn’t understand just how much it wanted until now.

They separate only enough to breathe and Will keeps his eyes closed as their noses bump together. He is beautiful and the expression of deep satisfaction he wears is singularly striking.

"Sorry for just springing on you," he says, thumb brushing against Hannibal’s cheekbone softly.

Hannibal encircles his waist and smiles. "I did not mind."

"That’s good."

"Likewise, I would not mind in the future."

He leans forward to kiss Hannibal again, as if testing the truth of the proclamation. "That’s good too."

Hannibal catches sight of Abigail at the top of the steps, eyebrows raised as her head pokes from around the corner of the hallway. Her face clears as their eyes meet and she grins at him before pantomiming zipping her lips. He smiles back and she disappears again, ponytail bobbing behind her.

It is a glorious new beginning.

 

**EPILOGUE**

Margot stares down at the unassuming white envelope in her hands as the man who passed it to her fades into the crowd. She makes her way into a local shop and heads for the bathroom, locking herself into a stall before she opens it.

She pulls out a letter with elegant writing and reads it carefully. For the first time in a long time, hope makes itself known to her and she closes her eyes against the tears that threaten to fall. When she composes herself, she reads it a second and third time to make sure she’s memorized the instructions before tearing the paper into pieces and flushing them down the toilet.

The letter was unsigned, but if it had not been clear who it was from, the addition at the bottom in a second handwriting would have been indication enough.

_I trust Alana is taking care of the dogs. Take care of each other too._

She smiles and sends a silent _thank you_ to Will Graham, wherever he is.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! the kudos & comments on my last hannibal fic made my heart very warm.  
> if you're interested in some domestic hannigram headcanons, i just posted some last night [here](https://vipertooth.tumblr.com/post/181446790629/).
> 
> much love to you all!


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